


...His...

by zeesmuse



Series: ...His... Mine... and Ours [1]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesmuse/pseuds/zeesmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the war, before Éomer ever thought he would be king, he had a lady-love. One wonders what happened to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not Rider-verse.
> 
> This follows canon, however, I have used Movie-Gamling as I’m comfortable with him and he suits my purposes.

Title: …His…  
Author: zeedrippyvessel  
Fandom: Lord of the Rings  
Beta – The Amazing Alex-Cat (lovelovelovelove)   
Rating: hard PG-13… maybe soft R  
Characters: Éomer/OFC   
Summary: Before the war, before Éomer ever thought he would be king, he had a lady-love. One wonders what happened to her.

 

****

…His… 

I remember the first time I truly laid eyes on Éomer King.

To begin with, he was not king. He was just raised to Third Marshal of Rohan. Théoden still sat the throne and Grima Wormtongue had not poisoned his mind.

Yet.

I was newly widowed; Irminric was never the heartiest of Rohirrim. His was a gentle soul, a gardener, as was I. His gift was coaxing life from the earth and we worked the fields outside of Aldburg. The past spring, while working the soil, he disturbed a nest of young vipers. He was dead by the next moonrise and my guilt was heavy, for he was not paying attention to his work. Rather, he was admiring my backside, which was bent over a little a head of him and he joked about it until the fever rendered him comatose.

So, I was left alone and bereft, in a cottage that needed repairs, with a small stable that needed more. I did the best I could and many of my neighbors were willing to help when they were able. But I feared the winter and the heartiness of my little cow. I was considering selling the parcel of farmland we had scrimped for some seasons to buy in order to pay for repairs.

It was a fine, sunny autumn day, when I brought my fresh vegetables and fruit to the market, with my best-forged smile. I was talking to the crafter next to me, anything to stay busy, pass the time, when a shadow blocked the sun. I squinted, a halo of sunrays outlining the tall, even by Rohirrim standards, man standing in front of my little table.

The first thought that registered was _‘This is a finely built man.’_ He was broad of shoulder, hardened muscle, long golden hair a woman would be… I was envious of. His clothing was plain, but finely made. I strained to see trying to make out his face.

Not disturbed by my blatant inspection, he moved to the side, so I could see him plainly. Béma, the man was beautiful! I had seen the Marshal at a distance some few times, but never this close. The crafter behind him was grinning like an idiot and Éomer reached over and inspected one of the apples. “Sweet? Tart?”

“Me or the apples?” I retorted. I quickly bit my tongue, as my da told me many times growing up, it would be the death of me.

His laugh was loud, boisterous, full of joy and good humor. “For now, the apples.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Last year, they were a bit tart.” I grinned up at him, the first smile I truly made since my Irminric died. “I would suspect much has not changed.” 

He picked one up, examining it thoroughly, before taking a bite. He chewed it thoughtfully before declaring it was indeed tart. “However,” he added, “I like them tart. Just like I like my women.” And with that, he dropped several coins, clearly overpaying for the fruit, and strode off into the sun.

~~~…~~~

The second time I saw Éomer was a few days later. Autumn’s chill was settling on Aldburg and I was in the field scraping up the last of the harvest. If my eye was correct, there would be just enough in the stores for the little cow and me to last throughout the winter. I was still considering selling the property in order to make the repairs on the cottage and stable. It looked to be a cold, dank winter and I wished for all the leaks and cracks to be sealed against the winter’s chill. I was picking, my mind deep within my own thoughts, when I realized someone was calling out. I looked up to see the Marshal, jumping up and down excitedly from the road. I watched curiously as once he grasped that he had my attention, he made his way through what was left of the field until he reached me. Again, I was taken aback at his sheer height, the beauty of his countenance. When he smiled, which appeared to be often, it lit up his entire face.

“Hallo!” he called out. “It is late in the day to be out.”

“The sun is up,” I snapped jovially. “It is not raining,” I smiled winningly. “Besides, the sooner I finish, the sooner I can retire to my cottage and settle in for the winter.”

At this, his smile drooped. “You are Wudurose, Irminric’s widow.” Immediately, my mood dampened. “I hear you think to sell this land. Are you unable to work it?”

“I am more than able to work it,” my voice broke. “However, my cottage and small stable are in poor repair and I fear I will not fare the winter if the cracks and leaks are not mended.” At this, I painfully stabbed my toe in the dirt. “I have done what I can, but it is not enough.” I swallowed heavily. “Repairs cost money, something I have fair little of.”

Éomer perused my land. I was proud of it; Irminric was proud of it. The thought of selling it made my physically ill, but I saw little other choice. “Do you wish to sell it?”

I thought for a moment. “The roof is leaking and the – “

“That is not what I asked,” he interrupted. “I asked if you want to sell it? Truly want to sell it?”

“Well, I-“

“Wudurose, it is a simple yes or no question.”

My heart and eyes fell. “No. No, my lord, I do not wish to sell it. But I have no choice.”

The man’s snort was inelegant. “There are always choices.” He turned to go, but called over his shoulder. “Finish here today, but do not think to sell what is precious to you.” I watched as he strode across the field to the road, where his horse waited patiently for him.

I thought to myself, what sort of strange man is this?

~~~…~~~ 


	2. Chapter 02

****

His 02 

_A/N – If Riders can drink Caffe, then they can drink coaco!_

 

No sooner had I put my dishes away the next morning, there came a knock at the door. I opened it to find Éomer and two of the local carpenters, along with the thatcher. For some time, I watched as the four men went through my home… _my home…_ and inspected it much as a buyer. They ignored me, save to ask the occasional question. They climbed into the eaves, whispering and pointing. They went outside and similarly scrutinized the stable, upsetting Áblysian, my cow. At least the Marshal attempted to placate her. After an hour, the three workmen left, leaving me with Éomer standing in the middle of my little cottage. 

“They will spend tomorrow obtaining the necessary materials and return in two days. Æðelwalh says the repairs should take about six days and Octa says the roof is in fairly good condition and only needs a few minor things. Æðelwalh did mention that your stable will need replaced next spring, but he can stabilize it for the winter.”

“My lord,” I began tentatively, “I cannot possibly afford –“

“You are not to worry. I am paying for it.”

I smiled to myself, painfully and closed my eyes. “My lord, I cannot repay you and I have nothing to barter in return.”

There was silence, an angry silence and my heart skipped.

“I do not wish anything from you.” It was terse, almost spat and I opened my eyes to see him stiffly holding himself in check, fists clenched. “I am lord of these lands. If my people are ill-kept, starving, or living in hovels, what kind of liege lord does that make me? Your comfort,” he said through gritted teeth, “as the comfort of all those who reside under my care, is important to me.” He allowed his words to sink in. “You have had a hard year. That is well known and your pride has been noted.” A leather-rough finger chucked under my chin and lifted it. “Please accept my aid as your liege lord.” He relaxed and his features softened. “I will hear no more talk of you owing me or paying for services. I will consider a smile that reaches your eyes payment enough.” That was easy enough to give, so I gave him the smile I had shown the world since Irminric had passed. Éomer shook his head, ruefully. “Not good enough,” he groused quietly. “We shall have to work on that.”

And with that, he turned and left my cottage. That was the last one-on-one dealing I had with Éomer, son of Éomund until Yule.

**__**

~*~ 

As he promised, the carpenters and thatcher returned two days later and for a week, my home was in a state of upheaval and chaos. I would stand in the dust at night, angry at the filth of men. Why was it they saw dirt only at an agricultural level whereas a woman could see a single grain? Áblysian was most put out at the noise and racket in her little home and she made her distress well known. By the second day, I took her to the pasture, where she could low to her heart’s content.

But they finished and when they did and I was able to clean, my heart swelled with pride. I would winter here, cozy and safe, and my little Áblysian would be content and warm as well. 

The rest of the autumn passed swiftly. When not out with his éored, Éomer made his presence known and felt throughout Aldburg. He was seen more often than not, working with other crofters, the stables mostly. He checked each and every horse, their hooves, their coats. The blacksmith and farrier were busy men indeed as he ordered this and that. His nose was in every storehouse, each citizen of Aldburg questioned about his or her needs and he made sure those needs were met for the winter. There were elderly who also had their homes inspected, their needs also met. My neighbors and friends praised him for his caring and responsible attitude.

Whenever he saw me, he made time, made sure I was spoken to. The sight of him made me tingle and I could not think for the life of me exactly what he saw in me that was of interest. Often, he stopped by my goods cart to sample fruits and fresh vegetables. I suspect many of the things he bought from me, made their way to the kitchens of those less fortunate than myself.

Winter came, cold blasted down from the mountains behind us. Frigid weather set in, but my home was warm, my stable was solid and protected and there was food in the stores for my cow and me.

All that was missing was love.

It was my first Yule since I was fifteen summers that Irminric would not be with me. He was my first love, my only love, all I had known since that fateful spring dance, when he plucked me from the wall and dragged me to the circle to frolic. In our youth, we dreamed and planned and dreamed more.

But I no longer dreamed, no longer planned; simply worked to survive the day and hoped to awake the next.

So Yule came upon me and I forced myself to decorate, but I took no joy in it. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, but my bed was cold and my heart was cold as well.

It began to snow that Yule night. There were festivities at Éomer’s manor, but I chose not to go, being in a melancholy mood. No one would miss me. I roasted a small chicken over my fire and was enjoying a rare treat of hot coaco. I gave thanks to Béma that my cottage was warm and dry and that Áblysian was also warm and would be fed for the winter. The carpenters and thatcher had done a fine job, not simply patching but completely repairing the small injuries to my home. In my esteemed and humble opinion, they had gone far beyond what I expected. I even had two new rain barrels outside my door and outside the barn to catch the rain and snow. More than once I looked outside my door, bundled against the cold and thought to go outside early in the morning and shovel as much of it into the barrels. From my earliest memories, snow water was the crispest and cleanest.

So imagine my stunned horror, when I opened the door for the umpteenth time late in the evening to see how deep the snow was, to find Éomer standing, one hand raised to knock and a satchel in the other.

“Are you mad?” I blurted.

“NO!” He actually had the audacity to look affronted. “I am cold! Invite me in, woman!”

I stepped aside allowing him in. Snow dusted heavily on his cloak and in his hair. “Where is your horse?” My hands reached for his green, woolen wrap, suddenly reveling in the broad expanse of shoulder beneath it. My mood flipped from downhearted to blissful almost immediately. 

“I walked. ‘Tis not far.” He watched as I hung his cloak with great care near my fireplace. “I… looked for you tonight. I wondered why you did not come to the feast.”

I cast my eyes downward, feeling rather foolish and I stepped around him, picking up my dirty cup. “I am not in the most festive of moods and I did not wish to disturb anyone with my gloominess.” I made my way into my kitchen and set the cup into the pan of water. It was still warm and soapy and I quickly washed it and rinsed it.

“Why would you feel… oh…” Dawning was evident in his voice. “Your husband. I am sorry. I should not have come.”

I set the cup on the draining board. “But you did and for it, I am glad.” I turned to him and smiled. “I am afraid I spend too much time lingering in memories when I should not.”

“They are good memories?” I smiled and nodded. “Then that is excellent, however,” and with this, he set the bag down on my little table behind me, removed his leather gloves, and took me by the shoulders, “you should not tarry in the past, but look forward to the future and consider new memories.”

I was considering the sparks I felt where he touched me, and my body’s sudden awareness of his nearness. I swallowed hard. “My lord, would you like some coaco?”

“You have coaco?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Are you hoarding it?” I began to laugh, his look was so stern. “And here I thought you were a mouse and was worried that your home might still be leaking or have cracks and be cold, that you would be going hungry,” with this, he lifted the bag, “so I brought your portion of the feast to you and here you are, your home smelling of roast chicken and drinking coaco!” 

I took the sack from him, before he could start swinging it around. “Thank you for the portion. I will put milk on to make the coaco and put this,” I lifted the food rucksack, “into the cold box outside the door.

Éomer apparently was raised to be a gracious guest. He grabbed my water kettle from the fireplace and poured milk from my milk skin, while I put the bag into the metal box that sat just outside the door. He followed me in and carefully placed it on the hook over the fire.

We stood in front of the fireplace, the silence almost painful. It occurred to me, I was not properly dressed; I was in my nightgown, with a shawl wrapped around me, my hair braided for the night. I blushed furiously at the realization how incredibly low-born and uncouth I must appear. Before the silence could become worse, the kettle began to whistle and I used the hook to remove it from the fireplace. In the kitchen, I carefully poured a cup, dropping the last of the precious coaco in the hot milk to melt.

“None for you?”

“I have had mine, my lord.” I handed the cup to him.

“Then, we will share.” He sat down in front of the fireplace on the floor and motioned for me to sit beside him. Again, I was very self-conscious about my lack of decorum, but there was nowhere to amend my appearance and I felt rather silly asking him to step outside while I changed. I pulled my shawl about me tighter and sank down next to him.

It felt strange, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, or attempting to. He was much taller than me and found the difference in our heights amusing. He finally put his arm around me and tucked me to him.

It was a nice feeling. For the first time in I do not know how long, I felt safe, secure.

Hot.

It was a heat that made one sweat, made the blood tingle to the point of boiling. Every nerve in my body was on fire. I looked downward, praying he did not see the blatant desire in my eyes.

“There is one sip left.” The warm cup found its way into my hands. “You take it.”

I pushed it back. “You are my guest. Please.”

A calloused finger found its way beneath my chin and pressed upwards, forcing me to look into eyes that defined the Rohan sky. “I insist.”

I broke eye contact, looking into the cup. There was truly barely a sip left and I lifted the mug, drinking in the last of the prized sweet. As I lowered the cup, Éomer lifted my chin again, inspecting me closely.

“What?”

“You have coaco on your lip.”

I have wondered often since that night, if he was looking for an excuse to kiss me, for kiss me he did. It was gentle at first, questioning my response and once I answered enthusiastically, it became consuming.

He plundered me, the heat of him all-encompassing. I do not recall breathing or when the cup was set away from us. Somewhere, the temperature became stifling, too much to bear and our clothes went flying in many different directions. My tresses were loosed from its braid, his hands grasping firmly at the roots. I marveled in the glow of his skin, the marble hardness of his muscles, how the fire reflected in his hair. His body was unyielding, rock hard, my first orgasm forcing what breath I thought I no longer had to come screaming from my body. Even as I clung to him, limp and soaked from my own exertions, I listened to his breathing and finally his own roar in my ear.

Eventually, we made our way to my bed, dove deep beneath the many quilts and held each other. We whispered to each other, our deepest fears and longings. Éomer told me of his father’s death, how it rocked their household and their mother wasted away, grieving herself into oblivion. He talked of living in Edoras, in Meduseld, the Golden Hall, surrounded by Riders and raised by a king, his own uncle. He spoke adoringly of his sister, a true Shield Maiden of Rohan, trained in the arts of war. He feared for her in Edoras, for the king had a new advisor whom Éomer did not trust. His cousin, the king’s heir was watching her, as he could not, but the marshal worried.

As I absent-mindedly caressed the engraved mark he wore from a leather thong about his neck, I told him how my parents were deceased, struck down on our farm by Dunlendings when I was nine summers. We saw them coming and my parents sent me to the next farm, where there was a garrison, to bring reinforcements, but they arrived too late. I moved to Aldburg, a large city to me, to live with my grandmother and she rejoiced when I found love. Irminric and I married, then moved into my grandmother’s cottage, this cottage, after her death. We shared large, fantastic dreams at night, in each other arms. We tended to the bungalow, the grounds, the small plot of land Irminric’s da gifted us. We scrimped and saved, worked hard to purchase the lot next to it.

He took me twice again in the night. I thought to myself how different he was from Irminric, who was gentle when I would have enjoyed a firmer hand. I did not fault my deceased husband, simply basked in the attention and power of this warrior.

When I awoke the next morning, the bed was empty; however the fire was restoked and blazing merrily. The abandoned mug was washed and clean on my side rack and my pan of water, emptied. I discovered a small wooden carved box on my table. Inside, was a finely wrought pewter hair clasp with the Marshal’s standard beaten into it, After I dressed to go out to salvage the clean snow into my rain barrels, I discovered fresh footprints from my home and the chore already completed.

__

~*~ 


	3. Chapter 03

****

His 

****

Chapter 03 

Three days after that first night, I was bringing herbs to the manor and as I left the kitchen entrance, I felt the thud of a snowball in the back of my head. I turned to dress down the little miscreant, only to discover the scoundrel was Éomer himself. He laughed and pointed at me as if he had done something amazing, until I set my now empty basket down and began to scoop up my own firmly packed snowball.

“You cannot hit me,” Éomer smirked. “You are a wimpy girl.” Members of his éored, who stood about in the snow, leaning against the wall, apparently agreed with him.

My wimpy snowball hit him square in the chest. Before he could protest, his jaw hanging agape, my second wimpy snowball hit him firmly in the nose. There were several appreciative male whistles. “She has good aim, Marshal!” one of his men called out. “Perhaps she should join your éored!” 

“Aye,” another called out. “She could pick off many a toad with that excellent of a shot!” 

I knew I was in trouble at that point. Both mittened hands went to my mouth in horror as I watched him scrape the remnants of the snow from his face and beard, unmindful of the good-natured insults being hurled at him by his men. His gaze fell upon me with a retaliative gleam. Under that gaze, I felt like a hunted rabbit. 

“My lord,” I began, backing up. Éomer’s finger was up, pointing at me and he began to move in my direction, closing the distance between us. “I meant no harm…”

He was bearing down on me; his hair and cloak were billowing behind him. My empty basket was forgotten as I turned and ran, keeping to the well-trod paths. For a moment, I thought I might get away, but suddenly, I was scooped up, brought close to a mighty chest, before being slung over that wide shoulder I admired and caressed a few nights before. A well-padded hand smacked down on my equally well-padded posterior. “Saucy, saucy wench!” Éomer proclaimed loudly. Several of my neighbors came to their doors, to see what the commotion was about, and when I realized what a ruckus was being created, I quickly shut my mouth! Éomer made his way through to my front door and carried me inside. He set me gently on the floor before shutting the door.

“My lord, I am so sorry! I did not mean-“

He kissed me. It was not a sweet, lingering kiss; it was one that held many promises.

“My lor-“

He kissed me again.

I gave up and allowed myself to be wrapped in his embrace. Finally, he set me back. “You have a strong arm, for a woman. Remind me not to be on the swinging end of your frying pan!” He laughed at the paltry plummeting of my fists. “Do you have plans for the evening?”

“Yes!” I was irate. “I plan to roast a chicken and clean the mess afterwards. Then I intend to feed my cow and take a bath in front of the fire place!” 

His smile was almost feral. “Good! I hope the tub will hold two. Plan on company!” He threw my door open, one of his men standing outside looking as if he was caught licking the cream from the churn. He held my forgotten little basket. Éomer took it from him, thanking him graciously and handed it back to me. “I will see you tonight at dinner. Wear my gift!”

I do not know who looked more startled; me or the young rider.

He did return that evening, with another bag that went into my cold box, as well as a largish animal skin rug – I did not recognize the animal – for the floor in front of my fireplace. He said the flooring was chilly and as he planned to enjoy me often, neither he nor I should catch our death on a cold floor. 

****

~*~ 

Over the course of the winter, we spent much time together. He would disappear on occasion for a week or two at a time – always when his éored was on patrol. Normally, he would warn me before time that he would not be around for a span and I should not worry and he always returned starving for home-cooked food, company and time in my bed. He made no secret of our relationship, much to the ire of some of the young women in the town. I was content for the time being and ignored their barbed, cruel whispers.

It was not uncommon for me to find food, sweets hidden deep in my cold box, the occasional skin of wine. On more than one occasion, I discovered extra pallets of hay and scoops of sweet feed in Áblysian’s feeding trough. 

One cold morning some weeks after our first night together, I found a heavy wagon horse in the stall next to my cow. She was very large and shaggy, with heavy, hair-covered hooves. I put my foot down.

“My lord!” Both hands were clenched in fists that evening as I glared across the table. “I cannot take the gift of the horse!” 

He was bent over his portion of the deer haunch he brought this particular visit. We had spitted it and slow roasted it over the fire. Only his eyes rose. “What horse?”

“The large draft horse that magically appeared in my stable this morning!” 

Éomer’s hand clenched and tightened around the haunch in his fist as he glowered back. “Are you seeing a sorcerer behind my back?” 

“A… sorcerer?” I took my spoon and scooped up a few peas, flinging them at him. 

He looked down before redirecting his gaze to me. “There are peas on my pants. You will have to clean this mess up!” 

“About the horse-“

He was now busy swatting the peas into the floor. “You will need the horse to plow your fields in a few weeks.”

“My lord! I cannot accept the gift, nor can I afford-“

“The horse,” he wiped his hands on the napkin, “is a loan. Her name is Fléotigu.” I barked in laughter at such a large, cumbersome creature being named _‘Swift’_. He now stood up, taking care to slap all the crumbs and remaining peas to the floor. “You will find extra feed in your feeding bins and hay each week; enough to feed the beast.” He now came around the table, the look in his eye becoming quickly familiar. “There is no room in my stable for her and she could use the exercise.” He took my hand and lifted me from my chair, a familiar gleam in his eye. “Speaking of exercise…”

****

~*~ 


	4. Chapter 04

****

…His … 

****

Chapter 04 

I saw less and less of the Marshal during the spring and summer. Aldburg continued on as if nothing were awry. As promised, the carpenters rebuilt the stable, making my cow and ‘loaned’ farm horse very happy and comfortable. In fact, they enlarged the stable, making room for more livestock if I choose. Gossip filtered through the town that Théoden King was turning the day-to-day running of his hall and eventually the country over to his new advisor, Grima Wormtongue, much to the dismay of our Marshal. Éomer spent more and more time out in the countryside patrolling. The few nights he spent in my arms, he whispered that it was not Dunlendings they fought so much, but orcs.

“Orcs? But they are in Mordor, so far from here!”

“These orcs are different.” He pulled me in close to his body. This eve was one of those rare nights where we did not couple; he simply held me tight and desired for someone to listen to him. “They come from the north, are stronger, more blood-thirsty.” I gasped at that. Orcs from Mordor were blood thirsty enough. “Unless Théoden comes back to his senses, we will be overrun and over-taken.”

I did not wish to speak of battles or war. I simply burrowed in closer, trying to give comfort by my presence.

~*~

Another autumn, another harvest came and went. Aldburg’s storerooms were full, thanks to a plentiful season that kept me busy, however a darkening pall hung over the land. Seeing Éomer became an infrequent treat anymore; as rare as the small bit of coaco that I purchased from the merchant caravan for my tiny Yule festivities. This year, I bartered for more, hoping that we would celebrate Yule much as we had the previous year. I enjoyed his attentions, even though they were few and far between these days. Often times, he left me feeling like a rag doll, every muscle aching, yet feeling fulfilled and desired. I was scared to think far into the future: I had no idea if he had a love elsewhere and I was simply comfort here. I was afraid to ask, afraid to dream. My cycles came with the same steadfast regularity; although I admit I held my breath during the time of the moon it was due. What would happen if I came with child? Despite every effort, Irminric and I never conceived. Was the fault mine? So far, I had not been forced to discuss that with the Marshal. 

Yule came and went. There were festivities again at the manor, but Éomer and his éored were not in residence and I did not feel right going there a stranger. Food and grain for the loaned farm horse continued to find its way to my stable and cold box; apparently he told someone to watch for me. More gossipy wenches were now speaking about me aloud, even within my hearing: _Where is your lover now? What happens when he is gone? Do you think you are the only one?_

“Who would take you to wive, now that you have been the Marshal’s whore?”

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth, you viper!” In all the years I knew Ábiterian, she was a nasty, sour girl and had grown to be an equally disagreeable and unpleasant young woman. “Do not blame me due to your lack of companionship!”

“Bicce!” Several people in the street stopped to watch our argument. It made me uncomfortable that we were the center of attention.

“Is there a problem, ladies?”

Both of us looked up at the tall rider on his horse. So angry was I, I did not see or hear the battalion come into the town. Éomer was in full battle leathers, his helmet with its long horsetail, dangling down his back. His éored came to a stop behind him. He leaned back, the saddle and his hand tooled hide armor creaking ominously. 

“No sir.” Ábiterian mumbled. She dug her toe into the muddy snow, her shadowed look to me mutinous.

“Wudurose?”

I smiled up at him, feeling catty. “Can I expect see you at the ale house?” It was a favorite haunt for the two of us together. In a moment of bitter triumph, my grin became wicked. “Or should I anticipate you for dinner?”

He did not return my grin and it took him several moments to answer. Beneath his helm, he looked exhausted and I now regretted my very public and foolish request. This was a catfight between two equally armed opponents and he need not be dragged into it. “Aye. I will be down after I tend to Firefoot.” I nodded my head and in doing so, caught the look of pure hatred sent to me by Ábiterian. I turned and headed to my cottage as quickly as possible. My back was heated, as I felt every angry imaginary dagger that woman mentally threw at me.

The moment I entered my cottage, I lit every candle, every lamp. I put water on the fire to boil and dragged the washtub to the fireplace. In my root cellar, there were a few choice pieces from a hog that a neighbor had slaughtered and I put them on the spit to roast. I boiled potatoes, carrots, set out a small container of fresh butter I had churned this week, along with a bit of brown sugar and maple for the ham that I was turning on the spit. I filled the tub, pouring oils of sandalwood and pine.

He arrived within the hour. As I suspected, he was exhausted, every muscle dragging. I put him in the tub, fed him there, and massaged oils into every muscle I could reach. Eventually, we arrived in my bed with me straddled on his back, working more knots from his shoulders. There were injuries; cuts and I rubbed healing salves into them. As I worked the honeyed skin, I finally thought about what he did, what he went through, every danger he faced and it dawned on me how lucky I was to have him return to me each time.

“Why do you cry?”

I was startled out of my musings. “My lord?” Éomer was looking curiously over his shoulder. He flipped, impaling me fully and thrust up once. My hands went to his chest, to steady myself. 

“My name is Éomer. I prefer you use it at all times, rather than my formal title. I like to hear you say it. Besides, we are too close for that. Now again, why do you cry?” His finger went to my cheek and he lifted the proof of my misery from it.

“You would think it silly, my… Éomer.” 

He rolled me over, pining me to the bed. Both of my hands were clasped in his. “I will be the judge of what is silly. Why do you cry?”

I sighed deeply. “Because I am afraid. I am afraid you will ride off and not come back and I will be alone again.”

He looked at me for a long time, a muscle working in his jaw. With his knee, he spread me wider and sank in deeper. “You will be provided for, taken care of. I have seen to it.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

“Is that why food and feed mysteriously find their way into my home?”

“That is part of it, but not all.” He lifted his head and stared at me intently. “Why did the little sour-puss call you a bitch? What was the argument about?”

I swallowed hard looking for gentle words. “She is of the opinion that your standards for companionship are low.”

“And?”

He was persistent.

“She believes I am nothing more than a whore.”

“Are you?”

My jaw flapped. “Well… I…”

“Are you seeing anyone besides me?”

“No, my… Éomer.”

“Then,” and with this, he began that age-old dance he and I were perfecting, “you are not. Consider yourself well fed, secure, and watched over. She would do well to sweeten her temper as at this time, she is useless to even the most desperate of men.”

With that, we concentrated on more physical things.

~*~

I saw him often over the next few weeks. I noticed that he was withdrawn, quieter. Rather than talk, he wanted physical comfort. I had nothing against this; I rather enjoyed the physicality of our relationship. My sex life with Irminric had been comfortable, nice even, however it was predictable. 

Sex with Éomer was not predictable. Ever. Every piece of furniture in my home, what few pieces there were, had a grand, sweaty memory attached to it now. We had sex laying down, sitting down, reverse positions, in the tub, standing up, on the table, in the chair, in the floor…

In the floor many times…

At times, I felt like a much twisted bread roll.

He talked of making love to me under the stars in the summer. He thought it would be great fun to go into my field in the rows of corn and make the stalks shake. He seemed to think we would scare the crows.

But more often than not, he was quiet. He would partake of my body and then rather than cuddle up, he would lay on his back, hands cupped behind his head while I rested. Many nights, I would awake to find him staring at the beams in the ceiling of my cottage.

After some weeks of this behavior, I ventured to get him to speak of what trouble him.

“You should not be burdened with my problems, my wild rose.” As of late, he had taken to calling me that, likening me to the wild briar roses that bloomed in the thickets and shade trees of Rohan. 

“Your problems affect me, especially when they are so obvious.” I curled up next to him, playing with the carved emblem he kept on the rawhide around his neck. My thumb worried with the engraving. “There was a time you talked to me, confided in me. Now I fear you are moving away from me, that you find me boring or uninteresting.”

He snorted through his nose, before looking at me in the dark. “Do you truly wish to know?”

“Aye.” I braced myself for the worst.

“Wormtongue has poisoned my uncle’s mind so that he does not recognize me as his kin.”

“Éomer, that is ridiculous! He knows your mother-“

“He does not know who I am. He does not know who his son is, who his heir is. He is aware of Éowyn’s presence, but he doesn’t recognize kin or friend. No one gets near him, save through Grima and Grima lets no one near him. We worry the King with our tales of war-mongering, of hate. We are not being attacked by orcs or Dunlendings; rather his is a troubled mind, it is all in our heads. We should not bother him with triflings.” Éomer slung his head the other way, discontent clearly seen in his profile. “Théodred has taken command of the army, but I fear Grima is in league with Saruman.”

“I thought Saruman was our friend.”

Éomer’s mouth was in a hard, grim line. “This Saruman is not. I have killed orcs with his emblem on their armor.” He snarled, fury radiating through his body. “He stirs up the Dunlendings, tells them we will burn them alive and steal their lands. Our allies are no longer our allies. I have no idea who our friends are. The Riddermark is changing, shrinking. We owe allegiance, our very soil, to the King of Gondor, yet there is no king, only a steward who is bitter and greedy. The world is changing and I am at a loss on how to stop it.” He turned back to me with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Come. I would rather enjoy my time with you, than talk about war and uncertainty.” I knew nothing else but to accept him as he came.

Ten days later, Théodred, heir to the king of Rohan, was killed at the Fords of Isen. The world _was_ changing and war had come to the Riddermark.

~*~ 


	5. Chapter 05

****

…His… 

****

Chapter 05 

There was a heavy knocking at my door in the middle of the night. The fire was low in the fireplace and I struggled half-asleep to find my shawl. “Who is it?” I called out, making my way to the door.

“Éomer! Open up!” I threw the heavy bar and yanked the door open, falling back as Éomer rushed into the room. “You must pack.”

I was still more asleep than awake. “Are we going on a-“ I suddenly realized I could hear the sounds of knocking, my neighbors also being rousted from their beds in the middle of the night. It was pouring rain, a miserable night to be out. He was in full armor, dressed as if going to battle.

“Aldburg is not safe.” He went to my cupboard and began pulling out my skins and small satchels. I noticed he carried a horse’s satchel over his shoulder. He slung them on the table. “Get dressed, pack as much food as possible and a change of clothing. Dress warmly in many layers.”

“Éomer! What is going on?”

“Orcs and Dunlendings have attacked Théoden’s forces at the Fords of Isen.” He moved back towards the front door. “At sunrise, Aldburg is to hurry to Dunharrow and take refuge there. There are carts to take the elderly-“

I gasped in horror. “The Dwimorberg is haunted-“

Éomer pulled me close. “I fear the creatures at the Fords more!” He turned me loose and returned to the door. “I pray the Dunlendings are afraid of them as well and they will leave the fortress there in peace.”

“I have a cart,” I was pulling down my food stores, separating them on the table, “I can take more food-“

“No. My household staff and stables are preparing already. You may load your cart and take what you are prepared to give, but I prefer you ride the horse. I wish for you to hurry if necessary and not worry of others.” He stopped in thought. “You do ride, do you not?”

“Of course I ride!” I snapped. “I am Rohirrim!” 

Éomer suddenly towered over me. “You are Rohan.” He kissed me swiftly, bruising my lip, the nosepiece of his helmet gouging mine. “Go to the fortress in Dunharrow. I will look for you there.” He ran out my door, leaving it standing open. “ROHIRRIM! WE RIDE!” 

I watched in the moonlight as he mounted Firefoot, his éored falling in behind him. He looked at me once, his features hidden in the dark behind his helmet before taking off, galloping down the road.

~~~…~~~

We left before sunrise, moving at a painfully slow pace. The elderly were in the carts and I felt almost silly on the large horse, but she was gentle and patient. For most of the journey, I allowed the younger children to pile behind me. Once, I put three on, while I led as they were tired and dragging, however one of the guards quietly informed me that the Marshal had made clear how I was to travel and that was how I was to travel. After that, the little ones then took turns riding behind me or in one of the many carts. 

It took almost two days before we arrived and I was grateful to see refugees from Edoras already arriving. The woods surrounding the refuge were thick and soldiers came from the forest to lead us in. It was well hidden and fortified and once within, as long as I did not think about the ghosts in the mountain behind us, I felt secure.

There was a young woman of my age, quick of step and purpose and I saw the similarities between her and her brother. I cringed when I saw one of Éomer’s men point me out to her and I felt her intense scrutiny of my being. I ducked my head and continued to help with the older citizens who ached from the travel and once they were settled, I helped several mothers with their over-excited little ones.

That evening after most were in their furs, I unrolled my bedroll, laying aside the change of clothing and what few extra foodstuffs I brought. I turned to retrieve something, to find Éowyn next to me. She looked me in the eye and studied me.

“My lady-“

“You are Éomer’s Wudurose.” I nodded in deference. “I have watched you today. I see why he finds you precious and dear.”

“I do not know what to say, my lady.”

She leaned closer, looking about to see if anyone would overhear. I feared her rebuke of to one as low-born as I. “Did you really plant a snowball in his face?”

“Aye.” I ducked my head.

Her grin was almost identical to her brother’s, though perhaps a bit softer. “Good. I like you already. I knew I would.”

Her jocularity immediately relaxed me, but her next words brought me up. “The king’s heir, Théodred, has been killed in a battle at the Fords of Isen. Grima Wormtongue attempted to imprison Éomer, however allies released him and new allies freed my uncle from Grima’s influence. Éomer is now the king’s heir. They ride to the Ford to repel the forces that took Théodred from the king.”

“Éomer is now heir to the throne of Rohan?”

“Aye.” My eyes must have taken a far off gaze, for she shook me gently. “Wudurose? Are you a-right?”

My lover… would be king. _I loved a king. I was a simple farmer, the daughter of farmers. What place would I have in his life?_ I forced myself to focus on her. 

“I am fine,” I reassured her. “I am simply tired. The world has changed.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Uncle and Éomer believe the Ranger that rides with Gandalf is the lost king of Gondor.” She shrugged. “The world has changed.” She turned away from me.

Aye. The world _had_ changed, but in different ways for the two of us.

~~~…~~~

tbc 


	6. Chapter 06

****

…His… 

****

Chapter 6 

Riders, men, éoreds began arriving in Dunharrow days later. They brought with them rumors of war, a battle horrible. The impregnable fortress at the Deeping Coomb was severely damaged, blown up with dark magic. These… orcs… had scaled the walls, trapping the men within, defeat certain until Erkenbrand arrived with his men with the wizard, Gandalf. 

The knowledge that creatures warred inside the unassailable stronghold frightened many of us to our bones. What was the world coming to, when all we held dear was being ripped from us? I looked continuously for Éomer, praying that he was alive and not chasing Dunlendings all over the Riddermark. 

“Why do you look?” Ábiterian slid next to me. She caught me by surprise and I balled up my fist in ire. “He is to be king! He will not-“

“Ladies,” Éowyn’s voice cut Ábiterian off. “Do you not have enough to do?” Ábiterian mumbled about cleaning the kitchens before scurrying off. Éomer’s sister watched her scuttle off through hooded eyes. “She does not like you.”

“No, my lady. She does not.”

“Why?”

I shrugged helplessly. “How does one explain years of ill will?”

Éowyn continued to watch her walk away. “I remember her when I was very young. She did not like me either.” She waited a moment, tapping her lip thoughtfully before walking around me, taking me by the elbow. “Come. I have things to do and I wish your help.”

~*~

Éowyn was more than kind and kept me busy and away from Ábiterian, so I was occupied and did not see when Éomer arrived. I was going about the day to day chores that his sister assigned me, when I heard many new voices, including a familiar one. I looked up to see Éomer standing with a regal, older man and a redheaded Rider. They were still in their armor and were deep in animated, but not angry, conversation. There were arms akimbo and fingers pointing to the north, east, west. Éomer looked worn, tired; he was filthy and his leathers bore battlemarks. There was a long cut on his face that ran along the side of his helmet, which he still wore. Without thinking, I took a step towards him; I wanted a closer look at the cut. It needed cleaning, but he looked up at me and nodded once, making clear my presence was unwelcome at the time. Both men noticed his attention was not completely focused on them and they looked at me with more than minor curiosity. 

I bowed my head and went about my business. 

That evening, as I headed to my assigned resting place, the redheaded Rider stopped me. Although not as tall as Éomer, he was thick in muscle and broad of shoulder. I guessed him to be at least forty-five summers. “My lady,” his voice was soft-spoken and he nodded slightly in deference, “Éomer has had your things to moved to his quarters. He has wounds that he says need your attention.” I simply dipped and followed the man through the fortress to the encampment outside.

I had not been outside in some days, so I was shocked at the number of tents and horses that were set up. Men were darting here and there, horses were being fed, watered, tied down for the evening. I noticed a dark area towards the back of the encampment that upset the horses. It made me uncomfortable as well.

We came around a corner to find Éomer and several men, including the noble Rohirrim I saw him with earlier. I dipped in a rather pathetic curtsey. “My Lord, King.”

“Bah!” Théoden waved at me. “None of this king business.” His hand was held out to help me rise. “Éomer? Where are your manners? Introduce us.” 

And thus, I found myself introduced most informally to Théoden, King of Rohan and one of his captains, Gamling. In addition, somewhere between that introduction and Éomer’s tent, I was introduced to Gandalf the White, several of the Fair Folk, including the son of Thranduil of the Green Wood and the sons of Elrond, as well as a dwarf and a Ranger, the Ranger Éowyn said was the King of Gondor. 

Éomer’s tent was spacious, certainly auspicious and grand to me. It was large, braziers lit in each corner, vented so the smoke would not cloy the room. There was a table in one corner, with maps and things I did not recognize. Éomer’s weapons, swords, his gear, were piled neatly in a corner, next to my few meager things. In the middle of the far wall, a large pile of furs, blankets were stacked neatly, making a large, comfortable bed. 

“Disgusting, is it not.” Éomer’s voice was droll, dripping with discontent. His eyes took in the majesty of his quarters. “Not one moon past, I was sleeping on the ground with my men or in the saddle. Now, I am the heir and I am forced to endure such comforts.” He kicked at the furs. “There is a feather mattress under all of that, as well as pillows.”

My toes were curling in my shoes, the thought of sleeping on the ground was painful. “My lord, would you have me dispose of the bed?”

He looked at me as if I had wounded him deeply. “You have forgotten my name?”

“No, my… Éomer.”

“You are sleeping in the bed with me, so no, I do not wish for you to dispose of the mattress. “ Finally, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. “You would not do well on the ground. Strong however you may be, a soldier you are not.” For several moments, he held me close and I succumbed to the comfort of his embrace and heat. Eventually, he released me.

“I am filthy and I have a few injuries that could use a woman’s touch.” He stepped away and began to pull off his over-tunic and shirt. “Rumor has it there are women doing laundry and taking care of the men’s needs.” At this he turned and speared me with a serious look. “I have no desire for anyone’s aid but yours.”

“Do you have clean clothes, Éomer?” He nodded to the trunk sitting in the corner. I took that as permission to open it and peruse the contents. In it, I did find clean clothing and I pulled out a shirt and trousers, along with small clothes. I turned to hand them to him, only to gasp.

“Aye. I told you I was filthy.”

“Filthy, aye, but…” I let my voice trail off as I saw the bandages around his arm and chest. “Were you not wearing armor?” I dropped the clothing on the bed and rushed to his side to closer inspect what lay beneath the dirt and sweat incrusted bandages. I went to remove the mark around his neck.

“Leave it be.” He placed his hand over it, to hold it into place. “You should see my armor,” he winked. “It is being repaired and I suspect,” he hissed when I pulled back the bloody bandage from his torso, “… it saved my liiiiife…OW! DAMMIT woman! Must you pull like that?”

I stepped back, turning loose of the embedded cloth. “My apologies, my lord-“

“Éomer!”

“My Lord!” If he was taken aback by my rebuke, he did not show it. Rather, he put up a childish, mutinous front. “I do not have time for foolishness and whining children. If you wish for me to clean and tend to your injuries, I need to inspect them!” I crossed my arms across my chest and settled on one hip. “I can wait until you decide.”

The stand off felt like forever, before he finally exhaled. He thrust his arms from his sides and rolled his eyes. “Do as you will.”

“You are such a baby,” I muttered, making my way as gently as I could around his bandages.

Eventually, I called for several buckets of hot water and cloths, along with bandages. I took Éomer’s dirty clothing to the washing areas and then went to the healer’s tent for salves and healing herbs. On my way back, I overheard raised voices, speaking an unfamiliar language. Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, I peered around the tent, seeing the Ranger, the Dwarf and three elves in a heated discussion.

All were pointing to the entrance of the Dark Paths.

I shuddered at the implications and turned, rushing back to Éomer’s tent. The hot water arrived while I was away and he was attempting to bath himself, something I found humorous to watch.

“What?” He spun around when he heard my giggling. “Oh, so you think you can do a much better job of it than I?”

“Aye, I can,” I acknowledged. “Sit down and allow me to tend to you.” For some time, I washed, cleaned the dirt and old perspiration from his body. The stench under the bandages was vile, but I removed them gently as I could and cleaned the grime from the gashes. 

“We hear there will be war,” I attempted to make small talk while I worked on a particularly deep cut. Even after several cleanings, it was still oozing dirt. I was shocked it was not infected. Perhaps, I cleaned it in time.

“Sauron lives.” Éomer was matter-of-fact. “His armies are unleashed on Gondor and Gondor has called for our aid.” He was quiet for a minute. “According to the White Wizard, the One Ring has been found and at this moment, a Half-ling bears it through Mordor to destroy it.”

“A Half-ling? You mean the Hobbit?” The Shireling had shadowed Éowyn since his arrival. “The men are making fun of him, clanging around in his armor.”

Éomer snorted and he turned for me, raising another arm. “His kinsman has the ring. Éowyn should not encourage that one.” 

I was completely infuriated by his attitude. “Why should he not fight? Are the men of Rohan the only ones who hold life dear?”

For a moment, time stood still. Éomer stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Eventually, he snorted and shook his head. “You sound like my sister.” 

This did not squelch my ire. “Thank you! I like your sister.” I touched his chin to lift his face. I focused on the long scratch than ran from chin to eye, cleaning it with a fresh cloth.

“Somehow,” he whispered, “I knew you would.” He closed his eyes, apparently enjoying my ministrations. 

Eventually, I finished medicating and bandaging hurts and cuts. The rumbling in my stomach made him laugh and grabbing his leggings, he went out into the night, bringing me back a bowl of something that smelled barely edible. I sat, holding the bowl with both hands, looking at the questionable chunks of something floating in the broth.

“Is this Dunlending Feast Day, where I get to eat with my fingers?”

The King’s heir smiled at that and pulled a used, semi-wiped fork from his pocket. My stomach lurched painfully.

“What? I did not think it smelled so horribly.” Éomer grabbed the vessel from me and using the spoon he brought, dipped into the broth and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “’Tis not so bad, at least it is hot.” He put the filthy utensil back into the bowl and handed it to me.

I managed to swallow a few tasteless bites, secretly thanking Béma that I was born female and would not have to force myself to eat such swill over any length of time. About the time I decided I could not possibly force another bite down, there was a scratching and call from the doorway of the tent.

“My lord,” Gamling, the redheaded Rider stepped into the tent, ducking his head in deference. He acknowledged me as well. “There is a problem.” 

“A problem?” Éomer mimicked back. “What sort of problem.” He dropped his shoulders. “Do not tell me my sister has brought her armor and sword and thinks to ride with the Hobbit to war?” I took the interruption in stride, thanking the gods that Éomer’s attention was no longer on my eating the disgusting food and without his noticing, dumped it on the ground just outside the tent.

The joke went over Gamling’s head. “The Ranger has left.”

Éomer’s jocularity vanished. “Left?”

“Aye.”

It was if the air were sucked from the tent. “Left. As in packed up his gear and left.” Gamling seemed to be at a loss for words. “Does the king know?”

“Aye. He said leaves because he must.” He waited a moment. “My lord, he left with the Elf and the Dwarf. They took the Paths of the Dead.”

Éomer sat down hard on the bed and rubbed his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth in thought. “Uncle is correct.” He looked up to see Gamling looking at him in confusion. “Aragorn is the lost king of Gondor. The ghosts in the Dwimorberg answer to him.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “If he survives, he will bring an army that cannot be killed.” He stood up and began to pace. “That will put an ache in Sauron’s caw, to be sure.”

They talked of other things. I tried to keep myself busy, cleaning, straightening. Soon after, Gamling left, leaving me alone with Éomer. He tied the flaps of the tent down, ensuring no one would disturb us, before turning to me.

“Come here.”

I obeyed; it did not occur to me to question. I stood silently as he undressed me, dropping my clothes where I stood. Gently, he nudged me backwards, towards the bed. His finger caressed me; the palm of his hand cupped me… his whispering in my ear…

“…mé léoflic, léoflic wudurose… my beautiful, beautiful wild rose…”

In the glow of the braziers, he bid me ride, begged me to touch and taste the salt of him. For the first time, I was the Rider and I controlled the night. My hands tangled in silken locks, like reins, and from above I watched him nuzzle me, our shadows thrown on the silken walls, undulating, traveling as one. It was a dance neither of us had undertaken, experienced... 

And when the world exploded, the fire consuming both of us, the braziers quietly went out.

~*~

“Wudurose, you still shake.”

Time had passed, enough for the remnants of the dance to subside, but he was correct. I still shook. I attempted to calm myself, but it only made things worse. Tears began to spill from my eyes. I brought my fists up. “Damn. When did I become such a weepy thing?”

Éomer was immediately up on one elbow. He pulled me in close, dragged my hands from my face. “My Wudurose! Crying, shaking, you swore! I have never heard you swear like my sister!” He drew me to him, almost beneath him. “Why? Why do you cry?”

I did not know whether to be angry or saddened. I wondered if it was possible to be both. “Do you not know? Are you dense?” By now, the tears burst forth like a torrent, a dam that burst. “You are going to war! WAR! I dread you will not come back. I fear you _will_ come back. I fear life has changed and what we have, will be destroyed. I am nothing more than a farmer. A farmer’s daughter.” I poured my heart into his chest, clinging to him, the mark pressed painfully into my cheek. “I am nothing but a farmer and you will be king.”

He waited until I cried myself out, waited for those dreadful hiccups I despised. As my weeping softened, he spoke gently.

“I will not lie and tell you things will not change. They will. The earth has changed and will change again when this is over.” He rolled, pulling me to his side. “I do not wish for _us_ to change. I will fight that with all my being. I will fight for us. I promise to do at least that. But I cannot promise things will not change. They will. But my feelings for you will not.”

I finally cried myself to sleep; falling at the edge of the abyss to hear Éomer whispering…

_“Mé léoflic wudurose, ic ferhþlufu ðu…”_

~~~…~~~


	7. Chapter 07

__

…His… 

__

Chapter 07 

We rose at the earliest of dawn and made love again. Afterwards, I relit the braziers, praying for time to slow, for the room to warm. He was dressed in his under tunic and trousers when I returned with breakfast. We ate silently, before the camp truly began to rouse. I dressed him, put every piece of armor on him, double-checking the lacings and the buckles.

“I have instructions for you.” It was if last evening had not happened, his voice was clipped and matter of fact and he adjusted his gloves and gauntlets. “If we fail and Gondor falls, you must ride and make haste to escape.”

“Where would you have me go, my lord?”

If he caught my slip, he ignored it. “Imladris first if possible. Go to Rivendell. You will wear the hair clip. Elrond will recognize my insignia.” 

I started to ask if everyone knew about us, but I bit my tongue and nodded affirmatively. 

“If the Elves are not there, travel to Lindon, to the west. Go to Mithlond; the Grey Havens. The ships will not bear you to their Valinor, but perhaps they will bear you somewhere. Take Fléotigu. She is hearty and powerful. She is yours if you need to run.” He went to his trunk and opened it, pulling out a short sword and scabbard. “If you do not know how to use this,” he handed it to me, “learn. It could mean your life.” 

I held the sword with shaking hands. Carefully, I pulled it a few inches from the scabbard; it’s sharpness, obvious. “You would have me run?”

Suddenly, his face was mere inches from mine. “I would have you _live._ You _are_ Rohan.”

~*~

I stood at the top of the ridge, watching the muster of Rohan ride out. Éomer was at the head, with his uncle, his standard flying. I could not make out his plumed helmet, just his standard. I turned to go back to his tent and collect my things, only to bump into Ábiterian. She opened her mouth as if to speak, her features already twisted.

“Do not. I will slap the spit out of your mouth.” She took a step back, in shock. “I do not know what I did to earn your hatred, but I do not care. Sleep with your bitterness and leave me be.”

~*~

We spent the day packing, reloading, slept in the fortress again that evening, with just our bedrolls. I looked for Lady Éowyn, to say goodbye, but I could not find her. We made our way home, planning the planting season. Ábiterian stayed away from me, gossiping still, but at least, at a distance.

Áblysian was glad to see me. What few men stayed, milked and fed the animals left behind, but I dare say none of them spoke to her or used a very gentle hand.

We listened for news, waited. For some days, I slept fully clothed, with Éomer’s small sword, by my side. Eventually, we began to work our land, plow and tend. For the second spring, I was again grateful for the loan of the sturdy Fléotigu, who needed little prodding to do what was needed. I quickly plowed both of my fields, tilling the soil and grinding the stable waste into the top to nourish it. I pretended we were not at war, so I allowed the hens to sit their first batch of eggs and bought a few sheep, two sows and a hog for my little stable. I could use the wool next spring and if the sows gave birth, there would be a little pork on my table for the winter. Even with the majority of the men gone to war, feed and tidbits from the manor continued to find their way into my cold box and feeding bins. I gave up trying to catch whoever was doing it. I would have liked to thank them, however.

Several days later, a single rider flew into Aldburg. He smelled of battle and blood; his features filthy of war and riding. We came from our fields, our cottages, to hear him in the square, standing on the fountain.

“We won!” he exclaimed. “We won!” He told us how the Orcs had surrounded the White City of Minas Tirith, only to be surprised by the Rohirrim, singing into battle. He told of giant Mûmakil, their evil barbed tusks and cruel riders, how they tore through the Rohirrim line, injuring, killing. I held my breath, who were the dead? Where were the lists of the dead?

He continued, after someone brought him ale, telling how the Ranger, Aragorn _was_ the lost King of Gondor, how he arrived on the Corsairs ships with the Army of the Dead. He told of the Ring Wraiths, the beasts they rode, how the Witch King slung Théoden King and his horse to their doom and how a single Rider stood up to keep the beast from killing the Rohirrim King.

“A Rider?” Ábiterian exclaimed derisively. “’Tis said by the great Glorfindel himself that no man would kill the Witch King.”

“A man did not!” The Rider was now warmed up to his tale. “It was the Lady Éowyn! The Lady Éowyn dressed as a Rider with the Hobbit Merry killed the Witch King.” We cheered, but he was not done. “Alas, she could not save Théoden. King Théoden has died, succumbed to his injuries.”

There was a stunned silence; sadness gripped each and every one of us. I cleared my throat, staring at the dirt, already knowing what the horrible answer would be. “If Théoden is dead, who is king?” I looked up. “What of Éomer? Who is king?” 

He looked me straight in the eye. “He is a hero, woman. Éomer is king. Long live Éomer King!” 

The rider continued on, but I could not bear to listen to any more so I wandered off, returning to my field, to finish the fertilizing. I remembered what Éomer said, what he wished, but the horrifying truth was I was not high born. I was not aristocracy. I had no idea how to run a manor, much less a noble hall. If dignitaries came from other lands – and they would – I would be an embarrassment, a liability. I was not the woman Éomer needed to be his queen.

I was just Wudurose. His lover; his mistress.

~*~

Not a day after the Rider came through, there was an earthquake. I checked the house and the stable, but there appeared to be no damage. Áblysian moo’d her displeasure and Fléotigu was quite skittish. I gave up trying to take her to the fields and spent the day planting flowers by my front walk. I scrubbed my floors and kept busy. My cycle started precisely when it was supposed to. That same morning, I found extra hay and feed in the feeding trough and a small skin of new wine in my cold box.

My heart was breaking.

~*~

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets real. Hankie warning

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… His… 

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Chapter 08 

The summer had already been wretched hot, but rains were heavy in the evenings. I watched my crops grow and speculated my trees would be heavy with fruit. Everyone said it was due to the evil being tossed from the land and Béma showering blessings on our new king. Many of the éored and garrison returned from the war by then. Oh, the stories they told. Sometimes, I would go to the tavern, simply for company and to hear them talk about their adventures. So much happened after the first rider came through. The Black Gate; the fall of Sauron and the Great Eye. A hobbit destroyed the One Ring. Gondor crowned her king and he was to marry a beautiful Elven Princess during the Summer Solstice. She was Arwen, Elrond’s daughter – the Elrond Éomer told me about who lived in Rivendell. She was rumored to be the most beautiful female born in over a thousand years and he was a renowned healer. I wondered if he could heal a broken heart. 

They talked of Lady Éowyn, being badly injured; how Éomer found her on the battlefield and believed her dead. The Prince of Dol Amroth realized she was not and saved her life.

They spoke of the Prince’s daughter; his only daughter. She was beautiful and they said she spent much time with Éomer King. They speculated the King of Gondor wanted more than treaties to tie Rohan to Gondor. They said Lady Éowyn had found love with the Prince of Ithilien, also injured during the war. Perhaps, they would marry and that will be tie enough for Gondor.

Perhaps.

A younger rider assigned at Aldburg’s garrison married Edyð, Yffi’s daughter, who lived across the way that summer. They lived in the attic of her father’s house, saving their gold and silver to buy a cottage of their own and some farmland. They reminded me of Irminric and myself so many years ago. They sat on the fields in the evening and planned and dreamed.

Just like we did.

I decided I had forgotten how to dream.

~*~

I recall vividly when Théoden’s funeral procession marched through Aldburg. His body was covered completely by his family and Rohan’s standard, which I was thankful for, as he was dead now five moons. The entire town stood quietly at the roadside, watching. I saw men weep. Even the children were quiet, learning to pay their respect. Éomer rode at the front, looking neither left or right. The little Halfling Éomer had mocked, rode in the wagon, sobbing openly. As they went by, I fondly remembered the graciousness of that regal man for the short time I was in his presence. 

Hay and feed continued to find their way to my feeding troughs.

~*~

It was early autumn and I was working in my smaller field. I was threshing wheat with Yffi’s daughter who I hired to help me. I needed help and she needed money. She chattered nonstop, talking about the house she wanted and how she wanted it set up. She was taking herbs to keep from becoming pregnant; she did not want to be birthing her first child in her father’s house. I let her babble wash over me. She was young and in love and I simply wanted to make sure enough wheat was stored for the winter. I thought about my other field, the last of the vegetables and fruit that would soon be ready. I would have to store them deep in the root cellar so they would keep longer. I was not truly listening too much of anything she said after a while.

“Wudurose! Wudurose!” Edyð was tapping me incessantly. “Are you not paying attention?” She pointed over my shoulder. As soon as I looked up, she dropped in a deep curtsey.

“I think she is preoccupied.” Éomer King’s shadow washed over me. I could see several Riders with him, standing on the roadway with their horses. Gamling held Firefoot; he nodded to me as if nothing had changed.

“I am sorry, Sire. I did not hear you.” I sunk as deeply as I could.

His hand reached to me, to lift me up from the dirt. “I will be here in Aldburg for some weeks. There is a new marshal to settle in and I want to check on everyone’s well being. He turned to Edyð. “You married Eanfrid this past summer, did you not?” 

Edyð bounced up and down like an over-excited child. “Aye, Sire. Yes I did.” She calmed down from her girlishness enough to speak plainly. “Wudurose is paying me for her help so we can buy our own cottage or build one on our own land.”

Éomer looked at me, the sun behind him keeping his face in his helmet, hidden in shadows. “Aye. Wudorose’s kindness is well known. Eanfrid is a good soldier. I wish you happiness. ” He addressed me. “You are well?”

“Aye.”

He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, to calm the both of us. “I will be by later to check on Fléotigu. With the éored back, the blacksmiths are working over time and I would ensure all the livestock will do well in the winter.”

I wondered if he was using the trip to my stable as an excuse to visit. My heart fell as I realized that before, he used no ruse; simply told me he was coming by.

~*~

As was his wont, Éomer brought food from his kitchens for us. I relished the treat, as the fare in his hall was richer than my normal plain fare. He conversed on small things, the additions to my stable, how the harvest was bearing, did I know anyone in need; supplies, food, repairs to their homes. He talked of everything but the war, Gondor, the princess of Dol Amroth. 

I was relieved when he finally took me to the bed, undressed me, and made love to me tenderly through out the night.

~*~

Éomer’s visits continued nightly for over two weeks. He spoke of small things, benign things, things that mattered little. Small talk. He spoke of changing the marshal’s of the Riddermark and the new marshal of the Eastfold, Elfhelm. I would see them out and about during the day, Éomer pointing out this and that. 

Food and feed continued to find their way into my bins, but I tired of games and I worried about Éomer’s anxious sleep. After many days and nights of thought, I decided to stop listening and wondering to idle gossip and find answers on my own.

I knew it would hurt.

That last night, I bathed thoroughly, washing my hair carefully and brushing it dry by the fire. I wore it up, much like I had on my wedding and perfumed my body with precious oils I kept hid for special occasions. I dressed in my best; truth be told, the dress I married in eight years before. When Éomer arrived, I fed him well, beamed and laughed at his jokes.

“Wudurose. Your smile does not reach your eyes.”

I dropped my eyes to the plate, before reaching and putting the napkin next to it. “We need to talk.”

“Aye and I have put it off.” His own napkin went to the table and he rose. Taking me by the hand, we went to the fire, where it was warmer. He took me in his arms, as if to dance, and pulled me close. “The world has changed and I am at loss at how to change it back.” I felt his lips on my forehead. “I do not know where to begin.”

I thought deeply for a moment; what I wanted against what I knew in my heart could truly not be. “We hear the Lady Éowyn was badly injured on Pelennor Fields and while at the healing halls of Minas Tirith, fell in love the with Prince of Ithilien.”

“Faramir. Aye.” He squeezed me. “Silly woman, going to war. Took the Halfling with her and no one said a word. Not a word.” He was quiet for a moment; rocking me to music only he could hear. “I found her. I thought she was dead. Others realized she was not.” He pulled me in tighter. “I almost lost her. She is the only kin I have left and now I will lose her to Gondor.”

“Is it a love-match, sire?”

He continued to rock. “We are back to that.”

“You are king, Éomer.” 

“True,” he whispered, “but I prefer being just Éomer to you.”

I tucked a stray lock of silken gold behind his ear. “I will remember and cherish that always.” We looked at each other for a long time, memorizing features. “There is a rumor that that is not the only alliance Gondor wishes of Rohan.”

He clutched me tighter. “You hear many rumors.”

“I spend too many evenings in the ale house, listening to the minstrels. There is nothing they like more to sing of than battles and beautiful princesses.”

Éomer’s mouth set in a grim line. “I have agreed to nothing.”

“What do your advisors say?”

“Hrmmph!” As if that would answer my question. “They consider a marriage with Lothir-“ he cut himself off before continuing, “the princess of Dol Amroth a marvelous thing.” The fact he mentioned her by name told me he was considering it as well. “Gondor would be pleased at the marriage. It would strengthen ties further between Rohan and Gondor, not to mention Aragorn – they call him Elessar now – is happy in his marriage, so he seems to think we all need to be married.” He shook his head ruefully, starring over my head.

“What do _you_ think?”

He studied me; much like he had that first night we were together, almost two Yule’s past. “I think I wish to tell my advisors and Elessar that another has my heart and I prefer to marry her.”

“But you have not.”

“No.” It was a pained whisper.

“Do you know why you have not?” His silence was all the answer I needed. I buried my face in his chest, hoping I would be able to control my tears. “If you wanted, you would have wed the one who holds your heart before you left for war, but you did not. Whether you waited because you wanted to make sure I was over my grief or because of the war matters little. What _does_ matter is I am not fit to be a queen-“ He began to protest at that, but I covered his mouth with my hand. “I am a farmer, a farmer’s daughter. I have no schooling save how to look at soil and tell if it is good soil to grow things in. I am well versed in seeing when leaves are diseased or a farm animal has colic. I have no experience or learning on how to run a hall or be a chatelaine or hostess large parties. I am not of a noble house and I am not noble born. I would be an embarrassment to you.”

“You do not embarrass me.”

“Not here. But in your Golden Hall, I would.” My hands tightened on his waist, bunching his tunic in my fists. “I was never meant to be a queen. You need a queen.” I inhaled deeply, attempting to keep my voice clear. “Would she make you happy?”

There was a long silence before his whisper. “Aye.”

“Then it is decided.” I squelched down the screaming of my heart. “I do not know what you saw in me to begin with.”

A calloused finger made its way beneath my chin and lifted my face, so he saw the tears running freely down my cheeks. “When I think of Rohan, I think of beauty wild and fair, strong and passionate, with a heart that beats for others. _You. Are. Rohan._ ” Our fate decided, he asked, “What would you have me do, my wild briar rose?”

“You have agreed to nothing? Made no promises?”

“None. I told Elessar I needed time to think.”

I smiled, grimly. “I would have you, one more night. Not as king, but as mine, Éomer.”

Of all the nights we had, that one was the most intense, most passionate. For not the first time, but the last, he took me on the fur, in front of the fireplace, the fire roaring. Again, my eyes, my hands lingered on honey skin, layered, firm muscles. His lips were everywhere, places that shocked me, the taste of him, of us, over-whelming. For the last time, I caressed marble hardness, the curve of him, the velvet head of his shaft. I lost count of how many times one pleasured the other. And when we could take no more, he carried me to the bed and showed me, we could. I fell asleep in his arms, exhausted, my hand curled around the emblem of his father’s house.

When I awoke, the food and dishes we left were cleaned, put away. Not a crumb or drop remained. My dress was lying neatly across the chest and his broach, his king’s cloak broach, lay on it, on the heart.

He left that day and I never saw him again, which was probably for the best. Deep inside, had he asked me to be his mistress, to stay, to be kept, I would have agreed. But he did not and I was glad he had not. Food for me and my livestock continued to find its way into my storage bins. A month later, the minstrels sang of his betrothal to Lothiriel, whose beauty and gentleness was sung throughout Gondor. I was determined to be happy for him and I raised my mug with the others in the alehouse. 

A week later, I discovered Éomer, King of Rohan had left me with more than a hair clip, a broach, a sword, a loaned horse, and food for my table.

~*~

I was in shock. After all these years without conceiving, I finally found myself with child and nowhere to turn to. Yes, I could tell him, but why? I did not wish for him to end his betrothal. There were probably legal agreements, contracts. I did not truly wish to be his mistress. His Queen deserved all of him. A man could not split his allegiance to two countries; he could not split his love between two women. If I counted the moon cycles right, I would be due in the middle of summer. I could not stay here: everyone would know and I did not wish my child to be pointed at and whispered about. 

A merchant caravan normally came to the town and stayed a week after harvest, well before winter was fully on us. They were known to travel Rohan and welcomed others who were relocating, offering companionship and safety in traveling. I spoke with their head merchant, who was happy to take me into their circle. I spoke with Edyð and Eanfrid about buying my home and smaller land. They had enough money to suit me and her father generously purchased my larger plot as gift to them. I gave them the sheep, pig and chickens and decided to bring Áblysian and the horse with me. Éomer _did_ say she was mine if I need to run; well, I was running now, although not for the reasons he originally intended. The day before I left with the caravan, I loaded my cart up, most everything I was taking with me fitting into the two trunks I owned. I rolled up the fur rug, the memories were too sweet to leave it, as well as my feather mattress and pillows. In the attic was a cradle, belonging to Irminric, which I brought down and tucked under the rug and quilts. I also took many of the seeds I stored for planting the next year, along with several apple and pear tree saplings, in addition to my store of food for the winter. 

I had a long journey, time to myself to consider my decision. The further we went away from Aldburg, the longer we were gone, the more I convinced myself that what I thought I heard Éomer whisper in the night at Dunharrow…

_Mé léoflic wudurose, ic ferhþlufu ðu…_

_My beautiful wild rose, I love you…_

…was my own fanciful dreaming and I had no right to love him.

Eventually, I settled in the east, across the Entwash near the river Andiun, south of Amon Hen, in a decent sized town with a midwife. It was cold, deep in the winter and I wearied of travel. I told them I was widowed; allowed the people to assume my husband died as a result of the war and the child I carried, his. I needed a fresh start, away from memories and pain. Thanks to the war, many homesteads were abandoned or up for barter and I obtained one that needed few repairs. It was larger than my little cottage with two fireplaces, a small room for a separate bedroom, and a ladder to yet another room under the strong oaken beams of the ceiling. Enough room for a child to live under and thrive. There was land to plant and a barn in good repair; plenty of room for Áblysian and Fléotigu. Chickens, pigs and sheep were easy to come by and as I had before, I bought several chickens and let all but a few sit, as well as two sows and a hog and a few sheep to begin. As winter fell away and my body changed and expanded, I walked the land I purchased, deciding what I would plant and where; the saplings I brought with me would grow trees, not any that would bear fruit in the near future. I would rely on the animals, wheat and vegetables I would grow for the time being.

In time, I would forget. I made small clothes and blankets, prepared for the birth of the very active babe I carried. I would raise my child and simply forget. We would be content and happy. I would make sure of it.

~*~

tbc 


	9. Chapter 09

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His 

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Chapter 09 

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*** Seven years later*** 

It was cloudy, the fall temperatures cooling and I was loading my little cart when the éored rode through, making haste to the public stable and alehouse. It is not the first éored to overnight here since I moved, but I peered from beneath hooded eyes, familiar with none, until the captain of the guard turned his head and I recognized the piercing gaze and vibrant hair beneath the hood of his cloak. Quickly, I ducked my head, lifting the hood of my wrap to cover my hair as I felt the first drops of the threatening rainstorm and I prayed he did not notice me. I put the last basket in the cart and quickly made my way to my little cottage. I paid the girl watching my child and observed as she made her way down the road to her own home, dodging raindrops before the storm truly broke. The rain was now coming down heavily and I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that I was not identified.

I made a stew from vegetables and a hot tea to warm us. The child was quiet; storms frightened him at times, so that evening, I only heated a small pot of water to sponge bathe him in. I was banking the fire for the evening, ready to settle both him and myself for the night, when there came a great banging at the door.

Edric ran to the entry, openly inquiring who would be at our door at this hour. 

I knew. _I knew._ Quickly, I shushed him and sent him to his bed, high under the eaves. He climbed slowly and the door continued to be pounded on.

I muttered under my breath, angered he followed me, furious he found me. I threw the door open, to the great, hulking man, soaked to the skin and none to happy to have been left in the pouring rain. “Mama!” my son exclaimed, still swinging from the ladder. “’Tis a Rider! A Rider with lots of red hair!”

“Come in, Gamling, before you catch your death of cold.” I shut the door behind the captain, taking his great, heavy, green cloak. I ran my hands over the fine wool, remembering another wet day, so many years ago, when I had removed a similar damp cloak from another’s wide shoulders. I offered him food, drink, neither would he take. By the time I got him to the fire, he saw my son, staring from the ladder, before my prickly rebuke sent him onwards.

“He looks like Éomer.”

I dropped my eyes, ashamed. “I know.” 

“How long do you think to hide him? Hide who he is?”

My mouth opened and shut several times as I searched for an excuse, anything. “No one here knows. They know I am a widow and all assume he is the child of that union.” I narrowed my eyes in mutinous determination. “I am determined that it should remain that way.”

Gamling looked at me calmly, searching my features and face. “That is why you left. The child?”

The fire crackled and a bolt of lightening hit nearby. “Aye. I could not stay.”

“Why not?”

I looked at him in irritation. “Are you so thick?” He drew himself up, unused to anyone speaking to him thusly. “He has a Queen! He married nobility, as he should and as he must! She has presented him with an heir!”

“And a spare.” The captain’s voice was quiet, barely heard.

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. “They’ve had another?” Gamling nodded once. I steeled myself. “Obviously,” I stated dryly, “it is a successful union.” Suddenly, the room was as ice and I turned my back to the man, moving closer to the fire. “What woman, queen or no queen, would want her husband’s bastard close by? Rubbed in her face?”

“Wudurose,” Gamling began, “Éomer cared for you deeply-“

“But he did not love me.”

“Yes, he did!” It was harsh, guttural, and it startled me, taking me aback. I never knew of the Rider to ever raise his voice, even in ire. Gamling’s large, heavy hand settled on my shoulder. “Yes,” he repeated it, only softer, “he loved you deeply. It broke his heart to end it, to be forced to set you aside. I suspect had he not been so honorable, he would have kept you, would have found a way to keep you. Truthfully, all you had to do was ask.” A lump that I kept hidden and down, rose in my throat and my shoulders began to shake. I was enveloped by the smell of leather, of horse… so similar to _his_ smell as Gamling’s arm turned me around and pulled me into his chest. The tears I never allowed myself to shed, convinced myself I did not have the right to have, spilled forward like a torrent into the Rider’s chest. Gamling was the King’s man to his bones, but this moment, he was a compassionate one as well and he allowed me to grieve my loss until there was nothing left but bothersome hiccups.

“He loved you,” Gamling whispered. “Loved you like he loved no other. He still loves you. Many times, when he has been deep in his cups, he grieved hurting you, wept that he set you aside, was forced to set you aside, railed that you left, that you felt you _had_ to leave. He grieved the circumstances, grieved everything.”

For a time, the only sound was the crackling in the fireplace. 

“He is happy?”

It took a moment for the man to collect his thoughts. “Happy? I suppose so. The Queen is… kindly, loves her husband’s people. She adores Éomer and he wisely dotes on her. She has worked hard to fit in, to learn our language. She strives to make sure Meduseld runs smoothly, that Éomer’s life runs efficiently.” He nodded his head once. “Yes. I suppose they are happy. But,” and with this, his finger tilted my chin upwards, so I saw the reflection of the fire in his eyes, “you still have a part of his heart. I do not think she is aware of it.”

“I was not meant to be a Queen. I do not wish for her to fear me. Or my son.”

Gamling inhaled deeply, the words he considered, obviously weighing heavily on his heart. “Wudurose, when you left, it crushed him. He sent me to find you and I promised him I would locate you and see to it you were taken care of.”

I turned from him, disentangling myself from his protective and kindly embrace. “Consider your promise fulfilled. You have found me. I am fine.” I wrapped my arms around myself, as if to hold myself. “You are released from your promise.”

“Not hardly.”

My eyes lifted to the mantle in fear. “Surely, you do not mean to drag me to Edoras-”

Again, the heavy hand was placed on my shoulder. “No.”

I spun, disengaging the contact, and turned on him, my clenched fists about my ears. “You cannot tell him! He will come! People will find out. _She_ will find out. My son will be labeled a bastard and I will be scorned, hated, pitied. They would call me a common whore. Edric’s life would become harder.” My voice turned from anger to pleading. “He is set to apprentice with the blacksmith in a few years. He lives in the local stables already. Rohan will get Éomer’s son soon enough!” 

Gamling’s look was full of pity. “I promised him I would find you and make sure you were taken care of.”

“You found me. You found us. We are fine.” A dark thought occurred to me. “Do not force me to uproot again and move. Our lives are settled.”

His ire with me was quickly evident. “Your whereabouts and your son’s have been known for some time. Many years. Have you seen Éomer sniffing around?” He waited a few moments, allowing what he said to sink in. “The king does not desire for you to uproot again. I do not desire to upset you or to hunt you should you decide to run, but hunt you, I would.”

“You would not!”

“I would too. Believe me, I am a better tracker than you are a runner. Besides,” he finished with a snarl, “running is for cowards and I would not take you for a coward. Especially,” and with this, he thrust his finger in my face, “not someone who planted a snowball in Éomer King’s face in front of his own men and manor.”

I smiled wickedly. “Heard about that, did you?”

“His men still rib him about it. But,” he shrugged, “not in front of his queen.”

My smile fell as quickly as it rose.

“Wudurose,” Gamling began gently, “I was there when the betrothal contracts were signed between the King and Lothiriel. He stayed her hand before she signed.” He now had my full attention. “He told her that while she may be his Queen and wife and held in high esteem and all honor, Rohan was his mistress, would always stand on equal footing with her and she needed to accept that before she committed to marriage with him.”  
 _You are Rohan…_

The memory rushed back, flooded me.  
 _You are Rohan…_

He watched as the recollection hit and I clung to it. “He loved you. He loved you so deeply and hoped when the world righted itself, he could make you his lady.”

“But Théodred died and then Théoden died and his life was no longer his own to choose.” I finished for him. “There were treaties to sign and re-sign, ties to strengthen through blood and marriage. The world changed and I had no place in his.”

Gamling sighed. “That is not how he wanted it.”

“It does not matter.” My eyes dropped sorrowfully. “Kings are not allowed to decide their fate or whom they marry.”

The Horselord sighed deeply, obviously searching for words. "Sometimes Wudurose, we say goodbye to the person we love, without wanting to. It doesn't mean we’ve stopped loving them or that we stopped caring. Sometimes goodbye is a painful way to say I love you." Gamling reached to his side, to a pouch carried at his belt. “Do you still have the hair piece he gave you that first Yule?”

I thought about the hair clip, hidden away in the wooden chest at the foot of my bed. It was valuable and many times I considered selling it, but it carried memories and I kept it only for sentimental reasons. “Aye.”

“It belonged to his mother.”

At that point, I knew the piece would be given to Edric in time and any thought of parting with it was naught. Gamling pulled something from the pouch. 

“This is for you.” He handed me a necklace. I inhaled when I saw the engraved piece at the end of the leather thong. It was the mark that Éomer always wore, that I often toyed with when we were together. “If you need anything, if Éomer’s son needs anything, if you are in trouble, make sure that gets to me or Éomer King in Edoras. Someone will be here as quickly as possible with whatever aid you need.” He reached around me and took his cloak, as if preparing to leave.

“Gamling? If you knew I was here, why did you wait until now to let me know? Why did you let me know?” I looked up at him. “You could have left me here in ignorance.”

The man shrugged. “Well, there is the horse you stole-“

“The horse was a loan!” I hissed angrily. “He said she was mine if I needed to run!”

“Ah.” At this, Gamling now smiled sadly, digging through the pockets hidden within his cloak. “That is true. He did give her to you in case things did not go well. The hair clip, as well. The insignia is recognized by the Elves and they would aid you best they can, if they could.” With this, he nodded. “As for now… it was the King’s hope that someone had captured your heart and you were happy. He wanted to ensure you and his son were taken care of and you were loved as you deserve to be.” 

The comment caught me off guard and I pondered for a moment while he waited. Over the years, several had sought my attentions. I had gently rebuffed each one, never wanting or desiring another in my bed.

“No.” I finally spoke softly. “After my husband’s death and then Éomer’s… well…” I looked up with a miserable smile, “I was loved by a king and have given birth to his child. Any child, any man I could have now would be lesser than that. How unfair to them.” I swallowed hard. “Before he left for war, he made me a promise, a promise he bent over backwards to keep, but could not. I will always love him for that, for trying.”

He nodded once, in understanding, when finding what he was rummaging for in his cloak, his face brightened somewhat. “You know, it is the strangest thing,” he pulled out a pouch that clinked as if filled with coins from its hidden compartment. “I find that I have gifted with a large plot of farm land here in the east that I have no idea what to do with. I have no need for it. I think,” and with this he put the pouch on my mantle, “that I will return in a few moons to sell it. You might wish to quietly look it over.”

My heart fluttered. “Where _is_ this piece of farmland?”

Gamling’s head tilted to the side as if in deep thought. He pointed towards the south. “I believe it borders your land. It is quite large; I would think three or four times larger than your current homestead.” I gasped at the enormity of it. I knew that property, coveted it and no one knew who it belonged to. Some speculated a soldier owned it. Octi, who was so old, that he could not remember how many summers he was, swore that Thengal King owned it. “Some of it would make a good field for cattle or a herd of horses. “ He smiled good-naturedly. “I have no desire of it and it is a shame it lies fallow. I would like to see it put to good use. Also,” and with this his gaze pierced me, “there is a young stallion housed in the royal stables. I have been charged with finding a buyer for him.” His eye glanced at the purse he so openly left. “There might be a few mares as well. You should seriously consider expanding your livestock.” The implication was very clear. Éomer intended on taking care of his son, quietly, and in the best way possible for Edric and me. If his generosity continued, I would be considered a very wealthy woman and Edric a fine catch when he reached his majority.

“Should I expect more windfalls and such gifts, Gamling?”

He cocked his head to the side, studying me as if I were a prize mare. “Yes. He would have purchased this place for you had I found you sooner.” He nodded once, looking at the neatness and sturdiness of my home. "He is pleased and grateful you've managed well so far. He intends to make sure you continue to do so." At that, he opened the door and stood in the threshold, rain still pouring. “Wudurose, he is truly sorry-“

I cut him off, unable to listen, absorb anymore. At that, I bid him goodnight and shut the door, gently lowering the bar.

I picked up the purse, astonished at its heaviness. I opened it, further stunned by the enormous amount of money being left for me to afford these ‘purchases’. And by glance, it looked as if there would be coin left over. There was a sinking in my stomach I had not felt since I realize I carried Edric.

I moved about in a stupor. He found me. He knew where I was. He was ensuring my life and Edric’s. But he knew for years and never came. Perhaps that was best. I realized my thumb was rubbing over the emblem carved in the mark and after banking the fire, I placed it and the money pouch in the trunk next to the hairpiece. I had not worn it in years and pulled it out, admiring the workmanship. I compared to the two, realizing in the glow of the fire, they were a matched pair.

_After all this time… he held on. I held on…_

It was a hopeless dream. I started to place the mark around my neck, but then decided against it. Instead, I set the two together, next to the sword and broach, buried the money pouch at the bottom of the trunk with the thought to hide it in the back of the root cellar on the morrow and closed the lid.

I crawled into my bed under the eaves and curled up in the quilts. Quietly, my tears began to fall as I again grieved a time gone and a world changed. What would have happened had Théoden King not died, if Théodred had survived the Fords…  
 _What if Éomer had not become king?  
What if…_

Tears were falling freely, when I heard the ladder creak and within seconds, a small, warm body crawled in next to me. “Why do you cry, Mama?”

It was said so like his father. I knew that sooner than later, someone would remark on the resemblance, the similarities. I prayed for a solution, an easily believed lie. “Oh, just thinking,” I whispered.

His fair head bullied its way beneath my arm and onto my shoulder. “I do not like that man. That redheaded Rider. He made you cry.”

“He knows… knew your father, Edric. Do not hate the messenger. He did no wrong.” I hoped the child did not notice my slip.

“He knew my father?”

“Aye.”

“I wish I knew him. Tell me about him.”

I stared at the rafters, vision blurred. So many memories so recently stirred and disturbed.

“Please.”

“Your father,” I whispered, “is a king among men.”

 

Fini

 

_…His…_

_Begun: 1/11/12  
Finished 1/14/12_

_Thank you Bev, Tammy, and Hayley who convinced me this little piece had merit. And thank you Alex. Always._

_Additional note: I would like to claim this is the end of this little morbid bunny, however there is a companion piece: … Isenóre… (Mine) to follow soon and possibly a third: …úreu ... (ours)_


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